


Decay In Description

by PlumTea



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Divorce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: Shalem thought she'd be happy for Lucio when he got married-- at least until he dropped off the face of the Earth and cut her out of his life. Five years later, the first time she meets her brother's husband is when he walks into her office and tells her he wants a divorce.
Relationships: Lucilius/Lucio (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	Decay In Description

**Author's Note:**

> To Lera, who helped me out a great deal with this.

Shalem finds out about her brother’s divorce first thing in the morning when she is handed the file across her desk. She and Lucio have never been joined at the hip, but she thought she garnered a little more respect than to find out this way. 

“If Lucio wants my help,” she tells Beelzebub, her nails tapping irritably against the side of the table, “then he can ask himself.” With an explanation of why. A _good_ explanation.

Beelzebub clicks his tongue and checks his watch. He has to be at the courts in an hour, and he was always terrible at small talk. “He’ll listen to your complaints, I’m sure.”

Oh, he will. She isn’t letting him off the hook that easily. “Since when were you two close? I thought you considered him a stuck-up dolt.”

“He is a stuck-up dolt.” He taps the folder and she opens it, seeing... not her brother’s name. 

Lucilius Astralis: head of the biopharmaceutical company, Canaan Sciences, one of the world leaders in the research and development of medicine. A child of two high-ranking diplomats, a data processing expert who once attracted the attention of several financiers and now provides remote consultation for several of the top investment banks. Beelzebub was in charge of the case where Canaan faced a lawsuit against its practices on pharmaceutical patents and drug pricing. He complained incessantly about Lucilius when the case was still open, but evidently they stayed on good enough terms for Lucilius to use Beelzebub as a messenger. Most lawyers would drool at the prospect of having a client like this, but Shalem wants to sink into her chair. 

So, Lucio didn’t tell her at all. She’s not sure if that’s worse, but it’s certainly not better. 

“I delivered it,” Beelzebub grumbles, gesturing at the folder with his chin, “so now I don’t owe any favors.” He doesn’t offer a goodbye when he leaves, but he’s never exactly been the polite type. 

One cursory rotation in her swivel chair. The folder is still on the table. She’s never met Lucilius before, as they had a private wedding. She had to go to the courts that day, but she didn’t get an invitation even if she had been free. Lucilius’ family also doesn’t allow their photos to appear in publicly distributed material, so she wouldn’t have stumbled across it by accident.

Her partners are glancing at her expectantly from outside the office; they aren’t currently looking her way, but she can see them shifting towards her when she turns back to her desk. A client like this would mean a lot for the practice and earn them quite the tidy sum. 

She runs her finger along the surface of the folder and purses her lips. 

“I’ll be at your offices in an hour,” Lucilius tells her when she dials and hangs up shortly after. What a character. But she has dealt with people who live by their own rules and don’t care for anyone else’s. 

Well, she has an hour, so she makes herself a fresh pot of coffee and listens to the water hiss and steam. 

The caffeine is just kicking in when her door shuts neatly behind the newcomer, clicking into place. 

She has seen a few pictures from Lucio in the past, random photos from whenever he went on vacation and was enthralled with some new place or thing. There were pictures of the happy couple, but Lucilius was always blurry or turned away from the camera. She is more acquainted with Lucilius’ clothing, a sharp side profile, soft conditioned white hair across a pale neck. 

Lucilius has a kind of reserved beauty that’s smudged by heavy eyebags, too deep to simply have been just from one night’s lack of sleep. A pure albino, color drained from skin and hair, thin as a rail from what vague body shape she can make out under that thick coat. Even after the coat is draped across her coat rack, Lucilius' dark clothes are all slightly too big. “Is there something wrong with my face?”

“No. I’m just thinking about what a narcissist my brother is.”

Lucilius blinks at her, and she catches herself. She has many well-known talents, but nothing is more notorious than her sharp tongue. “Mr. Astralis is fine,” Lucilius says, a strong emphasis on the _Mr_. “In light of recent events, you may call me Lucilius.”

“Then you can call me Shalem.” 

He sits down, legs slightly spread, back eerily straight, smoke and storm clouds into flesh. The look he gives her is pointed and impatient, but she is equally impatient. 

“Let’s hear it. Why me?”

“Seems ridiculous to list all your certifications back to you.” She shifts back in her chair, eagle-eyed, and he scoffs. “You appear the most capable. If I could do this entire process on my own, I would. But unfortunately, I need an external advisor.”

“This isn’t a prank or a test?”

“This is very serious.”

Lucio _should_ be in a dazzling marriage with a wonderful life. An interior designer whose name can be easily found on the A-List of most popular designers in any publication. His take on mid-century modernism meshes well with the current trend of minimalism and the bright colors he uses makes each individual piece stand out even more. Someone who doesn’t mind being in the public eye, as much as a person of his status would be. Yet despite that, there’s hardly any visible evidence of his marriage— going well or poorly, only existing in some kind of factual grey zone. She gets awfully tired of her brother awfully fast. “In that case, what did Lucio do?”

“What makes you so sure that Lucio is the problem?”

“He usually is.”

He cracks a half-smile that could melt lead. “I see.”

“Am I right or not?”

Lucilius’ mouth twitches, bright eyes flashing dark in the overhead light. “We are… not compatible. I’ve grown tired of Lucio’s absurdities. I see no reason to continue our partnership.”

Of all people, she never expected Lucio to get a divorce. Lucio speaks of his marriage during the holidays like it’s some sort of fairy tale. He has always shaped himself to be utterly perfect, at least on the outside. The more he shuns her, the more she wants to push him into the dirt. “I assume that the two of you would like to avoid this going public, but I will have to ask this so I can keep my discretion: who else knows about the divorce?”

“I’ve informed my parents, although they’re both out of the country for the next few years, my brother, and my work aide. As for Lucio… I believe he’s told his… your father, your grandmother, two of your aunts and uncles, two cousins, and Beelzebub mentioned that he was aware of the situation before I came to him—“

She opens her hand to him. “I’ll take your case.”

* * *

It isn’t often she has a ghost in her office. Lucilius doesn’t drink the water one of her assistants brings them, only sits with his hands threaded together like they’ve been stitched tight. She’s ordered them some lunch on delivery; it’s not something she usually does for her clients, but Lucilius is her brother-in-law, and it doesn’t look like he can afford to lose any weight. They sit across from each other, eating in silence. The room smells of lavender and fried chicken. He bites in small nibbles as if he has to remember how to eat each time. 

“Just so you’re aware, the work I do still benefits the Bahamut Group.”

He quirks an eyebrow, a challenge.

“People don’t do good business if their personal lives are in disarray.” It is a favor from her father to help out his business partners in their times of need— so they can get back to focusing on the important things. Then they’d think highly of him, or even in circumstances where things have truly eroded, owe him a favor. It’s sordid business, but what isn’t these days? Shalem has long pushed down the part of her that cares where her clients come from. “So if anything you want will dramatically impact the Group, I’d suggest you look elsewhere.” 

“How loyal,” Lucilius says, chewing his words. 

“He’s no saint, but he’s still my father. Anything to help out the family business.” 

“Yes. Yes indeed.”

She pretends to ignore that. “So do we have a conflict of interest?” 

He shakes his head. “We don’t have any children, and Canaan turns enough of a profit. I don’t need any of the family money.”

Lucio may be in a completely different field, but he is the eldest son and heir to the Bahamut Group. They have a great amount of success as a multinational company, and their international division recently signed a merger with a Swiss bank, catapulting their net worth to about one trillion dollars. Her father is still the head of the family and of the group, but as the heir apparent, the company’s assets could very well be considered to be Lucio’s assets. Most importantly, she isn’t even sure if her father would be willing to let Lucilius leave. 

“You waiving rights to divide the Bahamut Group can get you in a good position. So? What do you want?”

“Half. And the house.”

“Half _and_ the house? But the half doesn’t include the Bahamut Group at all?”

Smooth as a blade sheathing, Lucilius says, “We had an understanding.”

“A prenuptial agreement?”

“No, it was a document that the two of us signed. We would stay married for five years, vand we already agreed upon how we would split everything financially once the marriage came to an end. As noted, Lucio didn’t have many truly personal assets at the time.”

She remembers Lucio before he announced his marriage: doing relatively okay with some small work here and there, but mainly familiarizing himself with the Bahamut Group and coasting by on their father’s money. Compared to Shalem, who had already started her practice, he had looked downright unmotivated. “But you were already stepping up to take charge of Canaan by then, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Even with Canaan removed from the agreement, I still had my consultation service. Considering this, Lucio decided to make a proposal— we’d instead divide the value of his personal projects, excluding my assets entirely.”

“Lucio suggested that?”

“It was unequal otherwise. His words.”

“And I’m sure he came up with that idea completely on his own.”

A smile fits Lucilius as well as ice would in a bonfire. “Lucio is quite successful now, isn’t he?”

Lucio has always been able to decorate a room, even when they were children, but Dayspring Interiors was founded… four years ago. “And I’m sure you were wonderful in supporting him.”

“A good partner would support his husband, wouldn’t he?”

Shalem represses the shiver that threatens her skin. “Why five years?”

Lucilius’ face wrinkles. The hand reaching towards his food stills. “This was my first marriage.”

Shalem nods in understanding. “And you didn’t want to offer an extension?”

Lucilius’ voice slips low. “Why would I do that?”

“Right.” If there had been an agreement that Lucio signed off on, then not even their father would be able to make much of an objection. A problem— there had been no documents of that sort in the folder Beelzebub gave her. “So where is this agreement? Do you have it on you?”

Lucilius pauses, his blue eyes flashing darkly through his bangs. “Lucio is craftier than I gave him credit for,” he says as politely as his ground teeth will allow. “I thought I’d kept the original in a secure place, but when I told him I wouldn’t change my mind, he threw it in the fire.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d make that mistake.”

“Lucio is overly sentimental. He doesn’t receive many gifts, so he hoards the things given to him. I had copies made, but he went out of his way to find and destroy those too. I even gave one to my work aide, and Lucio managed to get his hands on that copy as well. How disgustingly motivated.”

When they were young and their father used to smoke cigarettes, Lucio got it into his head that smoking would be his death one day. When their father was out, he stole his father’s cigarettes from his bedside and hid them, thinking it would stop the habit. All it did was earn him a severe lecture. Some things don’t change. 

“Without the original document or any copies, it’ll be hard to prove the document exists, so you’d likely have to start all over. Half and half is fairly standard, but why the house?”

“I found that house and I bought it. Lucio may have decorated it, but it is mine. As for half of Dayspring, that is what I am owed, and I will have it. That is the least he can do.” With the stubborn tilt of his head, he’s already made up his mind. No matter what sensible argument she’s going to come up with, he won’t budge. These kinds of people are such a pain. 

“We’ll have to think about that. But main point, why do you want to get divorced?”

“Haven’t you met him? You know what he’s like.”

 _What he’s like_ isn’t an answer, even if she can probably guess. “Specifics.”

Lucilius’ sigh encompasses centuries worth of annoyance. “He’s overbearing and he never says what he’s really thinking. And he’s a fine cook most of the time, but his gnocchi is so awful. I can’t think of someone who doesn’t salt his pasta water to be a member of the human race.”

She’s surprised that he didn’t mention Lucio’s penchant for crashing through unspoken boundaries with his enthusiasm. “And what about sex?”

His eyes widen a fraction. “You say that so openly.”

“You’d be surprised how many marriages have terrible sex lives.”

He picks at a cuticle; one sharp poke to his thumb wrenches it free. “We don’t have sex that often, although we do still share the same bed. This is undoubtedly a positive.”

“He is… that bad, huh.”

“It was fine.” Lucilius shrugs. “In the sense of it didn’t seem like he did anything wrong. It wasn’t as if I had to instruct him on anything, but… there’s no appeal.” If Lucio was hearing this, he’d cry tears of blood. 

“Was this something you discussed before your marriage?”

“He pushed that bombastic proposal on me before I could bring it up.” That sounds like Lucio, rushing into things and knocking down everything in his path. “He isn’t pushy and he doesn’t try to change my mind, but he keeps asking me if anything happened. Nothing. Happened.”

“That… sounds like him.”

“It is obvious he has no understanding of me and he has no intention of trying to do so either.” Lucilius clenches his jaw. “Completely inconsiderate, constantly hovering around me like a fly hungering for scraps. Exhausting, and an utter waste of time and energy. He’s selfish and wants me to blindly follow his whims. I can’t stand him.”

Shalem snorts, and Lucilius snaps his eyes towards her. “When you complain like that, it’s like I’m seeing the real you.”

Lucilius’ fingers twitch and hook around the plastic basket of food. His smooth expression mottles and settles into something neutrally bitter. 

“So in that case, it’s a communication problem? No external affairs?”

“None. But… communication… yes. That is apt.”

Irreconcilable differences; she can file on that. He’d already included all the financial documents in the folder he sent over. “I’ll need a few more things before we set up a meeting with the other lawyer.”

“Whatever you need, I can get it.” Lucilius’ eyes glow with frightening resolve. “Same with whatever you are charging, I’ll pay it. Long as you get me out of this marriage.”

* * *

She found out that Lucio is terrified of snakes when he seized up mid-step while roaming the forest. The snake in question wasn’t very large, long and black and moist from yesterday’s rainfall and minding its own business. She ran off-path to find a stick, and the best one she could find was buried under a hunk of termite-chewed wood. The snake was surprised to be coiled around a stick, and equally surprised to be thrown in the air. Lucio was choked up— maybe from the adrenaline wearing off, maybe because her new shoes she was meant to start third grade in were now coated in mud— but he hugged her and thanked her and she felt like she did one good thing that day. 

Lucio liked to do work around the house. He didn’t have to; their father had people for that, but it kept him busy. One day he found wrinkles in her favorite dress, but their father was taking a call in the room where the ironing board was kept. She walked into his room and met the scent of burning plastic, later spending twenty minutes picking bits of carpet out of her dress. 

In her second year of undergrad, she accidentally let slip to Lucio that her full credit course load was taking a toll on her, and she was starting to fantasize about staying asleep forever. She was usually so good at keeping her secrets locked tight, but she had a lovely date with a bottle of malt liquor that night after her girlfriend of the week broke up with her. The next time she opened her dorm door (tired, hungover, wanting to fight the sun), the campus police met her like she’d just committed a felony. Lucio visited her in the hospital, but she pretended like she was mute until he apologized. It was a half-apology— upset at seeing her in a hospital gown, righteousness at having stopped something she never planned on doing in the first place— but it became a proper one when he fetched all her class notes until she was released, because she’d be damned if she failed her midterms over something as stupid as this. 

She attended a cross-campus house party and found Lucio sandwiched between a boy and a girl, a hand snaked around the girl’s waist and a tongue down the boy’s throat. He sneaked into her room later and asked her if she thought Father would be disappointed in him, voice tinged with fear. She wasn’t positive, but she was fairly sure that their father would find it far more damning if their class ranks slipped, less so regarding who or what they were inclined toward. She opened her wallet to show him a dental dam tucked between some bills and it took him a moment for it to click. When she told him he should probably learn how to use one, she relished him turning red all down to his neck. 

At twenty-five, she passed the Bar without stabbing her eyes out, a true miracle. Lucio braided her hair with a sparkly purple ribbon for her celebratory dinner. She was picking glitter out of her scalp for the next month, but she felt so enchanting under the lowlights of the restaurant that she wasn’t too annoyed.

Her first client at the practice was on recommendation from her father. The second one was too. After the tenth, she found it was easier to stop counting.

Years later, Lucio invited her to a day at the museum and told her right by the oil paintings that he was engaged. She was surprised at the news. She was less surprised that he decided to make this big announcement in the middle of the pedestrian pathway, blocking several people with cameras in their hands. Once she shoved him to the side, she demanded answers. Having admirers was nothing new for Lucio, but maintaining long-term relationships was. Most people tended to get fed up when they realized that even with romance and sex on their side, they would never hold as much sway over Lucio as his father. But she gave her congratulations and told him that she was eager to meet whoever made the terrible decision to tolerate him for life.

Months passed. They only saw each other on holidays. On New Year’s, after the wedding, she’d been bedridden with food poisoning. That was the only year Lucilius showed up. Every year after that, it was only Lucio and his stories. He told her while they watched the fireworks in the dead of winter that his wedding went so well, that he said he wished she’d been there. She didn’t speak it aloud, but she wished the same thing. 

Years passed. She won some and lost some, but her record remained overall positive. Even with assistants, paperwork on her desk always remained piled high. Getting swept up in work was a good way to pass the time. If she was tired down to her marrow, she didn’t have nights where she remembered he had better things to do than contact her. 

Now, he’s certainly busy, doing more important things, living his life. She hasn’t changed her number since high school. He has memorized it. Whenever the phone rings, it’s never him. She doesn’t get much done those nights. Better to dream of business as usual.

But sometimes she makes a mistake: she sees an old photo of them in her camera roll, she hits the wrong set of text messages, she opens her cabinet to find the bag of coffee Lucio brought back for her during his travels, she hears secondhand stories that he didn’t tell her, and all that bottled melancholy comes flooding back out. She didn’t think that she was so easily removable. It seems she was wrong.

The usual research into the other side is like having a corkscrew slowly drill into her guts. Lucio’s Instagram is filled with photos: of interiors he’s done, his elaborate mood boards, landscapes, candid shots of meals he’s eaten and people he’s seen; a perfect mix of the professional and the personal. A close-up of a yellow wallpaper with lily-of-the-valley stretching up from the floor. A perfectly framed picture of his oak work desk, right between two curtains as the sunlight streams in. A fresh bouquet of white and pink flowers overlooking a dual set of coffee cups. A professional shot of him sitting in a mood chair, enamored with a wrought iron sculpture of a bird. There are a few too many selfies to comment on. 

There are also short videos of his home life. The first one she clicks on looks to be a living room, cream-colored wallpaper and white and wooden furniture. The camera swivels around the room, shaky as Lucio chatters while he mops the floor, and trains on the only other occupant in the house. He is sprawled across the couch, and his face is covered by a pillow propped up under his head, but she can tell it’s Lucilius. 

“You left your papers on the floor again,” Lucio reminds him.

Lucilius swats at his direction, and curls up away from the camera. 

Lucio sighs dramatically, but it’s the kind of sigh that says he’s not really bothered.

Lucilius’ Instagram is much harder to find. It’s kind of impressive he even bothered to make one. Lucio has 2.3 million followers, and by contrast, Lucilius has 17. He has two photos: one of his shoe and a plate of apples, out of focus. The other one looks like a failed selfie, as it’s terribly blurry, but it isn’t at a selfie angle.

She picks up a photo album that Lucilius gave her— in his words, just scraps of paper. At the front, shots of the proposal. Lucio couldn’t have possibly taken them; they are framed too far away for Lucio to have taken them himself. They are in the middle of a restaurant, lights dim and casting a green glow on the area, but illuminated by the candelabra on the table is Lucio’s face, pupils blown out as his mouth moves in a question she can’t hear but knows what it is anyway. Lucilius sits across from him, pasta speared on his fork, frozen and unsure. 

At the back, a wedding she couldn’t attend. They appear to have rented a small garden, a small cut of space beyond a sky and rolling green mountains. Lucio is looking like he stepped out of an oil painting as always, gold ferns stretching up his jacket and curling around his neck, ribbons threaded into his braid. He sits under the lavender-stitched arbor, polite smile just suppressing the sunlight that threatens to stream out. Lucilius is by his side in all black, not quite smiling, not quite frowning, but his shoulders are slack, as if he accepts that this isn’t a threat. 

There’s a lot of photos from different places: in restaurants, on the beach where clouds meet the shore, under the jet-blue lights of a performance space before a black piano, shots of a skyline overseas. A picture book of a life she has never heard of. 

* * *

The other side is fashionably late as usual. Lucilius doesn’t look surprised, but he is tapping his finger on the table, and the hammering grows rapidly with every minute that passes. She has gone through half a pack of gum by the time the door opens.

Lucio is perpetually beautiful, marble-sculpted— she has been half-convinced that their father grew them in a lab considering that neither of them seem to age. He locks eyes with her first. “Sister.”

“I’m your sister now?” Her usually-even tone has more than a hint of venom.

“...You have always been?”

She has several choice words she’d like to throw at him for his stupidity, but the slatted venetian blinds and scrubbed wooden floors remind her that she’s working now. There’s a time and place for everything, and surely her opportunity will come. Surely. “How nice of you to remember.”

His mouth cracks before settling into silence. Coward. 

But he is not alone; the man that enters with him looks eerily familiar. A sharp figure in a grey suit, white hair framing a youthful face, an expression both tender and old. “Lucifer?” Lucilius’ voice cracks on its deep tone and he startles to his feet. When he hurries to the new man’s side, she sees that their faces are nearly identical. “What are you doing here?”

“Brother.” Lucifer is warm like a spring day. “You look well. ”

Shalem is overcome with the sudden urge to pop an aspirin. So this is the fabled Lucifer. She’s heard Beelzebub’s stories of the infuriating yet hauntingly talented defense attorney who always foils his schemes in the court. Come to think of it, he says similar things about Lucilius, doesn’t he? Her cousin sure has some taste. 

Lucio pats Lucifer’s shoulder, smiling as soon as Lucilius looks his way. “I’ve hired Lucifer to represent me. Surely he will have some insight into you.”

Strike a match, into the gasoline. Lucilius closes his eyes and exhales slowly, like the whoosh of a coming storm. Every word will burn if pressed into paper. “I knew you were despicable, but this is truly a low. You think you can use Lucifer against me? Who permitted you to breathe on this planet?”

With all the innocence in the world, Lucio says, “But you hired my sister. She is excellent at her job, but is that the only reason you hired her?”

“I am _right here_ ,” she warns the two of them. They both have the good sense to shut up. 

Lucifer takes the lapse in the conversation to step in. “Brother.” Lucilius looks at him hesitantly, blaze held back. “You are going through a truly hard time right now. If there is anything I can do to ease the problem, then who am I to turn the opportunity down?”

Lucilius’ mouth opens a crack, but all that comes out is air. He turns away and sits down with a scowl. 

She elbows Lucio aside to exchange a firm handshake with Lucifer. His eyes are soft at the edges, and he offers her a polite nod. He and Lucilius may share the same face, but they could not be more different. 

The meter-wide table stretches several kilometers. 

Her stomach will twist out of shape if she has to deal with this silence for any longer. Clearing her throat, she starts, “My client wishes to file a divorce. It would be much better if it was uncontested so neither party has to appear for long in the courts. To be clear, there is no case of adultery or abuse, and the two are living under the same roof, so there is no case for abandonment. In that case, it comes entirely down to the division of assets.”

“Wait,” Lucio speaks up. “It’s true, but how can you say that so definitively?”

“I investigated you.”

“You investigated…”

Shalem gives Lucifer a dull look, pitying all the lost time he must have sunk into this. “For my own amusement, how exactly did you come to your conclusion?”

“I asked my brother.” 

“And he answered honestly?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Her eyes flick towards Lucilius. The type who’s a complete pushover for his little brother, it seems. 

“I do have one crucial objection,” Lucifer’s voice hardens, business-straight. “For my client doesn’t consent to the divorce. He doesn’t understand the grounds to see any need to proceed.”

“It seems ridiculous,” Lucio firmly declares. “We have minor arguments, but nothing within the last year or so to count as large, especially not to this scale. I don’t mind dividing my assets, but I have no idea why Lucilius wants to break away so quickly.”

Lucilius’ tone is icicle-cold. “Anyone would want to get away from you.” 

“Why? I love you deeply, don’t you know that?”

“Liar.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lucifer’s head snaps to his brother, not letting the moment pass. “How has Lucio lied?”

“It’s nothing.”

“But you’ve always been the type to say things with purpose.”

Lucilius looks like he’s accidentally bitten into a lemon. 

“I don’t recall ever lying to you.” Lucio puts his hand over his heart. “Not important things that matter.”

Shalem feels her headache getting worse. This is uncharted territory— she has no idea what Lucilius is referring to. Her chest is twisting, and she’s not sure if she can flip this to her advantage.

Lucilius sneers, bitter and harsh, “You say you love me? How absurd. You don’t love me at all.”

The conversation startles into silence. 

“That’s… a rather strong accusation,” says Lucifer, putting it far too mildly.

“Where did you possibly get that idea?” Lucio sputters, face flushed. Lucilius turns his head away, no truth, no reply. 

Lucifer strokes his chin, eyebrows raised, taking this revelation far better than anyone else in the room. “This is quite the problem. If you don’t believe that my client loves you at all, then no matter what we present, you’d believe it’s a lie.”

“Good, you understand. So let’s end this farce and proceed—“

“In that case… we’d have to quantify what counts as a proper measure for love, right?” All parties look at Lucifer, who blinks under the attention, but composes himself shortly afterward. “If we left it up to chance, then we’d be left with a he said-he said argument, and that would go nowhere. So if my brother is accusing my client of not loving him, then we’d need to understand if that’s true or if this is just a misunderstanding.”

Lucio swallows, shifting his feet under the table. “I do love Lucilius, truly, but everything I do feels… natural? I don’t know how to pull it apart.” He looks so mournfully lost. “Lucifer, do you have any suggestions?” 

Business tone evaporating, Lucifer wavers. “I… well, when I’m with Sandalphon, he is very kind and gentle.” A small blush goes up his cheeks. “When I have to work from home, he brings me coffee in my favorite cup. The other day, when I happened to fall asleep on the couch, I noticed he’d covered me with a blanket…”

Shalem could have sworn she heard a low mutter of, "glorified secretary," next to her. 

Lucio presses his fingers together in delight. “Lucifer! I didn’t know you were married.”

“Oh! No, not yet.”

“Not ever,” comes that same, dark murmur.

This headache of hers is spiking. First off, they don’t need Lucio’s approval to proceed with filing a divorce, although that would likely put them in the courts if he remains stubborn. Yet… if she goes along with this farce, then perhaps she’d be able to prove that Lucio is in the wrong somehow. If he is the faulty party, then she would be able to get more money for her client. “This is something that needs to be ruminated upon. Proceeding too quickly will only lend one side as stronger than the better than the other. It would also lend too much weight to one side if only the opposition is allowed to propose the standards of measurement.” Shalem stands, casting a glance at Lucilius to follow her. “Next meeting, we will discuss the qualifications. Does two per person sound fair?”

“More than fair,” Lucifer replies. 

Last she checked, she was in family law, not marriage counseling. Well, whatever pays the bills. 

* * *

“You shouldn’t drink so fast.”

Lucilius orders another cocktail without flinching. He has so far gone through four of the six empty glasses between them. “He made Lucifer betray me. What absolute scum pits two siblings against each other?”

“Yeah, it would take someone really terrible to do something like that.”

“Divorce is too good for him; no, he must pay.”

She sips the foam off her beer, watching Lucilius grind his teeth together. “So you’re close with Lucifer?”

“He’s my brother,” Lucilius says like it’s obvious.

“Not all siblings get along.”

He waves her off. “We have our arguments. He is still reliable, even if this time, he is my opponent.” Such faith in each other. It would be nice if she had that too. 

She orders a basket of fries for herself, and they all vanish down Lucilius’ throat. He’s as skinny as a pencil, and she has no idea where it all goes. “Are you certain that Lucio doesn’t love you?”

He goes as tense as a violin bow. “I’m sure.”

“How?” When Lucilius takes an interest in the fruit slices at the bottom of his glass, she dryly reminds him, “Even if you’re making everything up to get out, you still have to tell me that’s what you’re doing.”

“I have no need to lie. I am absolutely certain.” His eyes are clear and full of fury. People sometimes hate so much that all they can hear is their own poison echoing in their ears. But all hate comes from somewhere. 

“…Alright. I’ll believe you.”

“Belief is unnecessary. All you need to do is prove that I’m right.”

“Don’t patronize me. I know how to do my job.”

“If you are being nosy and intrusive, then I’ll respond in kind.” His focused stare makes her spine crawl. “Why did you agree to take my case?”

“Because Lucio is a moron. The only way he’ll learn is if something slaps him in the face.”

Lucilius cocks his head slightly, demanding more. 

Something jagged starts to gnaw at her side. She hasn’t mentioned to anyone that her brother one day decided that she wasn’t worth keeping in touch with, and dropped out of her life without as much as a warning. Nobody knows that there are certain parts of her life that she can’t think back on anymore, because even if they were rosy in the past they are soured by the present. It is hard to explain misery to someone who wasn’t there to feel the depths of it—or wouldn’t care. But at least Lucilius seems to understand that Lucio has his eyes only for his father and himself, so she hisses, “The first time I saw what you look like was in the profile that Beelzebub handed over.”

Lucilius opens his mouth and closes it again. He is wicked enough that he should make fun of her. Mercifully, all he says is a hard, “Then it’s only right that we put him down together.”

“There is nothing righteous about what you’re doing,” she says to him, to people like him.

His lips twitch, but his eyes don’t lose their steely luster.

“And that’s fine.”

* * *

From the very start of their life, they were their father’s children. It never mattered that her and Lucio had different mothers; they were the same age, they were brother and sister. 

With their family’s status, it was only natural that people would be attracted to them and try to take advantage of them for their own needs. They had been taught that from when they were very young, before they’d stepped inside a school for the first time. Their lessons had been drilled into their heads: If people will come to you to manipulate them, then you can manipulate them back. Empathy is poison. Others do not deserve to see your true emotions, but they respond well to courtesy. Use them, work hard, work seriously, all for the sake of the family. 

Lunch and dinner plans, practices and performances, homework and classes, entertaining guests and company— all part of a rigorous schedule that made up their daily lives. Neither of them ever questioned their situation, for it was simply normal. 

Lucio looked at his father like he was the sun. They orbited around him, so Lucio aced all his tests. He played piano until the tips of his fingers ached. He filled his head with concepts far beyond someone of his age. He learned how to make tea just the way Father liked it, even if that way left the tea so bitter Lucio couldn’t taste test it himself.

One day, when their notebooks were smudged with ink from studying for university entrance exams, he came into her room with a smile. “Father named me the heir,” he said, breathless. She was happy for him; he had juggled far more than anyone his age ever should. He now had his entire life mapped out for him. He didn’t have to think about his future. It was what he always wanted. 

She knew she wanted to go into some kind of law, but it wasn’t until she realized she was very good at getting people to cut themselves open for her that she figured family law might not be a bad idea. If she had to listen to her classmates spill their problems to her, she might as well get paid for it.

“Business law is far more lucrative,” their father said in response to her proposal. 

Perhaps so, but she had already realized that people are very good at telling her things. She could read the pulse of statistical charts, but she could also get straight to the heart of the things people don’t want to say. “I can make this work.”

“Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes,” she said, resolutely. “I can.”

Lucio sat in his chair, not saying a word. Lucio is still not the type to openly disobey. It was only later when he walked into her room and shut the door behind him. “Father usually knows best,” he said, almost hesitantly. “Do you know if this is the right move?”

She was stepping into unknown territory. Straying even a pace apart from her father left her waking up at dead hours of night, clutching her pillows so hard her nails left punctures in the pillowcases. “I don’t know if I’ll be fine, but it’ll be something.”

He nodded, staring at his toes. “Alright. I’ll trust you.”

If she was the type to cry, she would have burst into tears right there. She wasn’t, so all she did was throw her pillow at his face. She was grateful to have his support, even for a second. 

Now years later, he can’t even pick up the phone. 

* * *

From the lily-patterned rugs to the potted plants in the corners, she has been invited into a structured forest. Between the mahogany furniture and dark green walls, Lucifer is the brightest thing in his office. They are divided by a long table, cinnamon-scented candles burning steadily at the end. In the stomach of the enemy, Lucilius crosses his arms and spits, “Let’s get this sham over with.”

“It isn’t a sham.” Lucifer’s voice is a soft pillow to collapse into. “It’s something to help both sides understand the case.”

Lucilius clicks his tongue, the politest response he can muster. 

Gazing at Lucio, an utter mystery as always, and back to her, Lucifer straightens his posture. “Shall we go in order?”

She waves him off. “You can begin.” She’s sure she can shoot down whatever Lucifer brings up. 

“In that case, I propose the first qualification: affirmation. We will define this as ‘making sure affection is transmitted in a written or verbal method’. My client vocalizes his affection more than often. Obviously, there are no recordings of the day-to-day, and public statements aren’t private.” He pushes forward a stack of clipped papers. “I have compiled all of Lucio’s texts to Lucilius within the three years and transcribed all of his voicemails.”

What a mess. It’s like reading her brother’s diary. Between the basic requests for groceries and dinner, each text is a poem. If she wasn’t working, she’d cringe so hard she’d fold herself inside out. “Texts don’t show the whole picture,” she jabs her nail down in the middle of the paper. “And they are perhaps the most impersonal way to communicate.”

Lucifer slides another pile forward. “I’ve also compiled a list of testimonials from acquaintances, none of who are in a position for Lucio to influence them, or had contact with him since before the divorce filing.”

They are all positive, listing what they’ve heard from Lucio and their own impressions. None of them are in depth, but they seem to at the very least think the two are a happy couple. 

“I need no compliments,” Lucilius snaps. “They are cheap on an insincere tongue.”

“Why do you say that?” Lucifer asks. 

“Because Lucio has no understanding of what I do at work. I don’t need an audience praising me, only acknowledgement of success. Results are the only measure of that.”

“Perhaps that is be true. But I don’t have to be at work with to see how much it takes a toll on you.” Lucio’s brow furrows, as if speaking the words would evoke them into reality. “You want to lie down as soon as you get home, and you isolate yourself in your studio for the rest of the evening.”

“And what makes you think that I’m in the mood for praise when I’m exhausted?”

Lucifer holds up a hand and that’s enough to silence both of them. “If that’s the case, and you believe that Lucio is communicating in a way you dislike, are you communicating in the way you’d like by way of example?”

A clever trap. She has pulled the same records, and to say that Lucilius has been polite is charitable. She’s lost count of how many death threats she’s read. It’s almost impressive how creative Lucilius can be; he never threatens Lucio the same way twice. “It’s true my client may not have shown much external affection,” she weaves her words with care. “But he is not the type to do so.”

“It seems that much of the conversation from Lucilius’ side is, instead, overly critical.”

“And what is critique? Is it not the wish for someone else to improve? Surely your client recognizes that there are more perspectives that exist outside his own.”

Lucifer opens his mouth to object when Lucio cuts him off. “There’s always so much I can learn. It’s hard for people to have a whole viewpoint of themselves. How else would I learn if someone didn’t point it out to me?” The way he talks rings clearly insincere to anyone that would hear it. Only she knows that it isn’t. 

Lucifer is struck speechless. “I… suppose that’s true. There are all opinions to life and they should all be respected…” 

She sharply cuts in. “Affirmation is also something reserved when a person or action is deserving of such. It is gifted. Therefore, if my client is not offering such, then that is because he has deemed that praise hasn’t been earned. If my client is unreceptive to praise, then it isn’t a positive; it becomes an issue instead.”

“You hassle too much.” Displeasure rolls off Lucilius in waves. “When I tell you to stay away from me, you still linger. Even a child knows to obey orders.”

Sculpting the wave into an arrow, she lets it loose. “I pose the second qualification: boundaries. No couple can exist around each other 24/7; it is important for there to be distance in a relationship, for each person to live their own lives on their own terms. In this aspect, I put forth that my client’s boundaries have been consistently and routinely trampled upon.” She turns to Lucilius. “What are Lucio’s general boundaries?”

“Don’t leave doors open. Do not interfere with any affairs of the Bahamut Group. Be scarce when clients are over. Do not speak ill about his father.”

“Do you uphold them?”

“There is no good to say about my father-in-law, so I opt to say nothing instead.”

She turns to Lucio. “And by contrast, what are Lucilius’ boundaries?”

“No suggestions about Canaan unless asked,” Lucio wearily recites, “Do not disturb him if he’s in his studio. Physical contact is to be kept at a minimum.”

“Let’s hear about the second-to-last one.”

“As I’ve said before, Lucilius is often exhausted when he gets home. He retreats to his studio at the end of the day, and that’s also where he takes calls when he works remotely.”

“You know this and yet, every single day without fail, you come into my studio. Absolutely no consideration for my personal space or my need to recover from the long day,” Lucilius growls over the table.

Lucio flushes up to his ears. “You don’t even say hello when you come home, and you only come out for meals!”

“That is neglecting your spouse,” Lucifer points out. “It is one thing to want space, it’s another to ignore your husband entirely. Have you considered he might be bothering you because he wants attention from you?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that boundaries were violated,” she returns the jab equally fast. “If my client is respecting Lucio’s boundaries, then it’s Lucio’s duty to respect his in turn. Repeated violations erodes any good will.”

The puzzlement across Lucio’s face is satisfying, to say the least. 

“You cannot seriously be making that argument,” Lucifer sighs. “If we are talking about the matters of the home, then let me put forth my third qualification. Labor and favors: in other words, service.”

“Our clients’ relationship is not a sexual one,” she clarifies.

“Yes,” Lucio confirms, disappointed. Lucilius very clearly ignores him. 

“The service I speak of isn’t necessarily sexual in nature. It could be easing burdens around the house by doing chores. It could be small things done to ease the partner’s stress. All things that aren’t exactly pleasant, but needed for a household to function. Let’s start with an easy example: duties expected around the house. Lucio, are there any things you are in charge of?”

Lucio hums. “We do have a housekeeper to tidy up the house once a week, but on the days that she is absent, I prefer to do some vacuuming and cleaning myself. Removing impurities is standard for a livable environment,” he says, voice laced with pride. “I’m aware it sounds strange, but I quite enjoy the laundry and ironing. There’s something relaxing about it. I have also taken up cooking, it feels pleasant to experiment with new ingredients and see what I can make. Such is normal, no?“ Dear god. He’s a househusband and doesn’t even realize it. 

“Not as normal as you’d think,” Lucifer, polite to the end. “Brother, what do you do?”

Lucilius grunts. 

“Brother.”

“I work.”

“As does my client?”

“I’m busy, and Lucio delights himself in being a maid. Let him live out his indulgences.”

Well, even if the case was settled right now, she is absolutely sure of one thing: it must be hell to be married to Lucilius. 

Lucifer coughs loudly to clear the air. “If this exercise proves anything, it’s that the opposite is true. Despite my client’s concessions, it’s abundantly clear that it isn’t my client who is the unloving party in the relationship.”

“That’s all a matter of perspective,” she professionally says, even with the dawning knowledge that her brother has been embracing a bundle of thorns for five years. 

“I know the facts.” Unmoved as always, Lucilius turns away from them all. 

Lucifer’s brow furrows. His hands fold calmly over his papers. “If there’s anything else you’d like to offer, I’ll listen. Is there a specific incident you’re speaking of?”

Sharp eyes cut to Lucio. “You should know,” comes dark and bitter. 

Lucio takes in all the faces at the table aimed his way and has the good sense to notice Lucilius’ quiet determination. Stirring the silence, he descends into thought. “It’s true that we’ve had arguments, plenty of them. But despite that… surely I’ve treated you well, haven’t I? There may be many tiny arguments, but I can’t see how that would really pile up.”

“...Is that it?”

“I love you. I put everything I had into my marriage and our relationship. That should be enough.”

She expects Lucilius to say something sarcastic in response, but he’s unmoving and unblinking, gone ice-cold. He doesn’t look at anyone as he stalks out of the room. Shalem stares after him in disbelief until she hears a faraway door slam. 

Lucio gets to his feet, apologizing silently. “Perhaps I should be going as well.” 

“Don’t chase after him,” she chides, catching the small pause in his stride before the door shuts behind him.

Abandoned, the two remainders don’t have much to say. Her body moves before her mind does, guiding folders and scattered papers into neat piles. A pale hand crosses into her line of sight, and she sees Lucifer on autopilot, doing the same. 

“Why did you take this case?” Her thoughts are spoken aloud. 

“Against my brother, you mean?”

Shalem spreads her hands, letting him figure out the rest. 

His smile is heavy, mourning a problem he can do little to untangle. “If he came to the conclusion of wanting a divorce, he must have been suffering greatly. If money isn’t a factor, then something must have happened. My brother is very… stubborn.” He inhales through his nose, “I didn’t know Lucio very well before, but now I think I know him a little better.”

“Off the record, what do you think of him?”

Lucifer slides the clip of his pen onto the edge of one of his folders before gathering them all in his arms. “…I don’t think he’s lying. I don’t think my brother is either.”

Funny. She was thinking the same thing. 

* * *

Shalem walks right past the waiter and slams her bag down next to Lucilius’ glass, rattling the table. The cup of melted butter topples on its side and spills all over his lobster. Lucilius stares into the mess of butter and seafood and jerks his chin up to glare at her. “Next time, you tell me when you’re leaving,” she warns, returning his glare in kind. 

“We were destroyed, completely. I hired you to do your job. Your job is to win, not look like a fool.”

“I can’t do my job if you keep secrets from me,” she snarls back, whip-fast. “How do you expect me to win if I don’t have the full story?”

“If all you have to do is whine, you’re wasting oxygen. Get out of my sight.”

“Shut up and listen to me.”

He leans back in his chair, taking his drink with him. She kicks out the chair across from him and plants herself at the table. Lucilius sets his jaw, his lips curling up to show the whites of his teeth, but she is an arrow that hits true. She plucks one of the lobster claws soaked in spilled butter and cracks the shell. 

“Lucio’s a massive pain. But he seems not just to put up with your worst sides… he seems to accept them as how you are.”

“None of that matters.”

“Do the small things really bother you that much?”

“Small things make up a marriage. Small things take up daily life.”

“Small things are not what destroy a marriage.” She bites into the freed meat, tasting basil and garlic on her tongue. “I’m not saying that Lucio is particularly good, or worth sticking with if you want to leave. But none of the things you mentioned are really worth breaking a marriage over. He approached you, and he even signed the agreement—”

“He didn’t approach me.”

“You said…”

“He didn’t do it because he wanted to,” Lucilius mutters back.

Gloomy silence filters between them. 

“You didn’t mention that before.” Her voice has lost its edge. Lucilius turns away like he’s asking her to pretend like she didn’t hear anything. She never did like pretending. “Take your time.”

Stars patterned from the jagged chandelier streak across the paintings on the wall. The ice in Lucilius’ drink dots condensation on the outside of his glass. 

“I heard it. He didn’t know I was nearby, but I _heard him_. Your father, my devious, loathsome father-in-law. He said I was something he ‘chose well’.” Lucilius’ voice slips low and terrible enough that the waitstaff all suddenly have something to do on the other side of the restaurant. “I know what that means. Lucio’s obnoxious, over-the-top proposal was supposed to be because he’s a gaudy showman, not because his father told him to pursue me. I’ve been dancing on puppet strings.”

The Bahamut Group has grown in power and wealth considerably through information, but most importantly, through connections. High-ranking diplomats like Lucilius’ parents would be key assets in being able to expand the business to new parties. 

“When did you find out?”

“A year in. New Year’s.”

During the one time she was too sick to attend. “Did you confront Lucio?”

His anger tempers for a brief moment. “What did Beelzebub tell you about me?”

She’s not sure of the connection, but she’ll play along. “That you’re a nasty upstart who barged into his office to hire him without an appointment. That you’re stubborn and eerily driven and don’t care about what other people think of you—“

“All of that is correct. I refuse to surrender without a struggle.”

“Does that case have something to do with Lucio?”

“It was a lot of paperwork, but I was handling things. But Lucio said that his family would take care of everything. When I objected, he said that I shouldn’t bother, that it’s not like I could accomplish what his family can.” Lucilius bites his tongue; any deeper and he’d draw blood. 

She is seeing the flow now. “You combusted. And he gave a non-response.”

“No admission of whether it was true or not, but he said he loved me.” A cold sneer creeps up his face. “As if that’s enough.” Twirling the stem, the droplets drag down the glass. He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh before draining his drink. “Have the rest if you please. I’m leaving.”

It’s a twenty-minute drive to Lucilius’ house from where they are, and he will open the door to the very person he wants to get away from. “Do you want to stay over for the night?”

Jacket half-on, Lucilius stares at her.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m not interested in having an affair with a client. Do you want a place to sleep or not?”

Lucilius huffs and pulls his arm through his other sleeve. “It would be exhausting to drive all the way home at this point.”

“I have blankets in the closet.”

* * *

Breakfast is toast spread with ricotta cheese and mint. She concerns herself more with loading herself up on as much caffeine as possible, future bathroom breaks be damned. She thought Lucilius would be a much more demanding guest, probably insult her taste in home goods, but he was surprisingly muted. Even now, Lucilius sits at her dinner table with his plate in his hands, knees apart, nibbling on the crust, not a single objection to what he’s been served. 

She is on her second cup of coffee when she asks, “Have you told anyone else what you told me?”

“My aide at work.”

“Saying it out loud didn’t help, hm.”

“He doesn’t spread rumors. That not a single word went out shows that he has some worth to him. But he is powerless,” Lucilius mutters, lapsing into silence once again.

Gentler for a moment, she speaks a secret. “I haven’t been married before. But I understand what it’s like to feel betrayed.”

There comes his bitterness back again, ebb and flow. “Sentimentality is useless. I have all the proof that I need. Our whole marriage was a joke.”

“...You know yesterday, the other side was trying to prove that Lucio loves you in the present, not that he first started courting you because of his father. The two aren’t related.”

Lucilius jerks his chin up, eyes narrowed by his frown. “What?”

“Let’s say you’re right, and he only proposed because Father told him to. If he was only doing the bare minimum in your marriage, or if he wanted to butter you up for something in the future, then he wouldn’t need to do all the things Lucifer listed. But so far, he seems to have demonstrated that he’s sincere— overbearing and weird, but sincere.”

“How ridiculous.”

“If he really meant to keep you tied to him forever, he wouldn’t have let you escape.” Lucio could do that; she knew, because she was taught those same methods. 

“What a worthless hypothesis.”

“Then explain your logic to me.”

“ _Use your brain_. All of that prattle, and I am supposed to believe— how am I supposed to believe anything when the biggest thing he’s ever done was a lie?” Torn between a snarl and a sneer, the venom comes free. 

That day four years ago, Lucio had driven a blade into Lucilius’ chest. All that has happened since then is him slowly bleeding out, locked into a contract that nobody could save him from. Father would never have let him run. At least, not until the terms ran out. 

“Lucio’s as dense as lead. He probably didn’t even realize it or mean it.”

“Has that poisoned water slaked your thirst?”

Blood rushes to her face, but her twisted tongue fails her. She knew all along, of course, that this time she couldn’t heal her own wounds. Not remembering is just as much of a sin as the blow itself, and she can never push that knowledge down deep enough. She has been exsanguinated too. “I’m sorry. This all must have been very hard for you.”

He stares at her with tired disbelief. It is easy to ready a blade, but all that comes out is a drained, “…Yes. It was.”

“First relationships are a chore, aren’t they?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then do I have some stories for you.”

For the next hour they sit, talking about the bad breakups she’s had, the people in her life who have come and gone. It is more of a monologue on her end, with Lucilius listening with ill-concealed boredom, but he doesn’t tell her to stop. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Lucilius hooks a finger by his chin, feeling out the possibilities. “Cooking is like lab work. The kitchen is Lucio’s territory, as are the meals.”

“Why don’t you look up some recipes? Give some a try.”

* * *

Lucio comes into the next meeting crying about how Lucilius nearly burnt the kitchen down, but the spaghetti bolognese he brings in is actually quite good. 

* * *

She isn’t expecting a guest when her schedule is free, but there’s a body in her office anyway. “Shalem—“

“I’m recording you,” she cuts him off, gesturing to her phone. “The case isn’t over yet.”

Lucio pauses— thinking? Caught off guard?— and sits down anyway. “It’s not about the divorce.”

“I will do what my client wants.”

“If a divorce is what Lucilius wants, then I’ll let him have it. He’s not going to hurt himself if we’re apart.” He has always had that innocent condescension, like he knows what’s best for everyone. 

“Lucifer could have informed me, not you.” Her mind catches up. “I won’t tell you what made Lucilius so angry.”

“I wasn’t going to try to glean that—“

“No, you were. It’s not my business to tell. Ask him instead.”

Lucio inhales sharply, then exhales, looking at his clasped hands. “Yes… perhaps I should do that. This entire affair has me,” he pauses, “very confused. I don’t understand why my husband wanted a divorce. And,” he looks up at her, “I don’t understand why you agreed to help him.”

“I have my reasons.”

“If he blackmailed you…”

“He didn’t.”

“Then… I’m afraid I don’t understand. I got married. I had a life outside the family. I was happy. Why do you resent me?”

Her fingers curl and uncurl in the air, imagining her nails sharp as claws. “I know you were happy, you absolute moron.”

“…If this is because you don’t have a partner—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

He gets the picture, and his mouth snaps shut. The noon sun radiates hot through the wide window. “Are you perhaps upset at me for spending time with my husband?”

“You really think I’m going to get angry at you for that?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. I’m not sure and you won’t tell me… I’m not sure what to do.” 

She was sure she did that enough already, but he’s still clueless. Fine. “You had a nice marriage, and you didn’t bother contacting me. Did it ever cross your mind that I’d want to hear from my brother? That I’d want to be part of your life? And no effort from you.”

“If you had called me, I would have happily filled you in...”

“And do all the work?” she lashes back, daring him to deny it. “Weren’t you even slightly curious as to how I was?” 

Lucio stares at her, wide eyes white circles. “You were alright.”

She flinches, as if he’d just slapped her. “ _What?_ ”

“I see you during the holidays. You are always energetic in your own way. I can never forget that, my confident sister.”

The room she decorated herself, from the wallpaper to the bookshelves, is too stimulating. Everything is blown out and hazy. “You see me once a year and you thought my entire life was alright?”

“You’re always fine. You’re always doing well for yourself. You’re always headstrong and devoted to whatever you want to set out to do. Can you not do that on your own?” Oh, Lucio. Trust has drowned him. Trust and the belief that nothing ever changes. 

“You could have asked.”

“I… suppose I could have.” He looks down at his lap, his hair obscuring his face. “I was trying to be good,” he says, so quietly she has to strain her ears to catch it. 

“I know.” And she does. She has always known. 

* * *

The figure in the peephole waves at her. “Good evening.”

“Don’t you know how to call people beforehand?”

Lucio chuckles, hands tucked behind him. “Can I come in?”

She throws open the door and jerks her head over her shoulder with a grunt. He drifts through, gauzy ghost, looking at the creams and muted purples that checker her apartment. “You could use more dark furniture.”

“Noted,” she grumbles, letting him wander until he reaches the balcony. The breeze blows her hair into her face when Lucio rolls open the glass door and steps outside. Nightfall turns the buildings below into a sea of stars. Though his white clothes are impeccable, Lucio sits down on the balcony floor and stretches his legs out until his feet are pressed up against the railing. He doesn’t call for her, but when he doesn’t move, she sits by his side, using the leg of a low table as a headrest. 

“I spoke to Lucilius.”

“Did he tell you?”

Lucio nods, bobbing his head like it weighs too much. “I’m glad he did… for I didn’t remember.”

The long day settles upon them both. It’s been a long time since she swept her balcony and old leaves crunch under her palms. Lucio’s profile is unreadable under the moon and the light filtering in from her apartment. 

“At the time we must have had a huge fight and though I forgot about it… he couldn’t. Lucilius is the kind of person who values the strength of his own choices. I’m sure he wanted an explanation, or a reaction, or to know what I was going to do. But it wasn’t important to me, so I thought it wasn’t important to him…” Voice rough, he says, “I hurt him, deeply, didn’t I?”

Self-preservation and the family above all. They had been primed for that their entire lives. To tell the truth, Shalem wasn’t sure if she would have done much different, had she been in Lucio’s position. They were pawns, and they had long accepted it. Why would this one instance be any different? “You were too focused on being happy. On being a good son.”

“Yes.” He drums his fingers along the floor. “And that made me hurt the one person who trusted me not to. No… that’s not right.” He looks at her, and she knows, finally, he’s understood. 

“I am still deciding,” she forces out, “if I am angry at you.” 

Frailty strikes Lucio, hard. It isn’t the answer he wants to hear. His mouth tightens in a smile before he says, “That’s fine.”

Being understood is half the battle. It should be the majority of the battle, but she can’t deny the demon in her heart. She wants to punch him in the face, make him bleed until he has felt the pain she’s felt all this time, but she also wants to embrace him and put this whole thing behind her. The two war with each other, and all she can do in the end is stay still. 

She’s buried her hands deep in her sweater pockets when Lucio asks, “How long has it been since you spoke to Father?”

“He called me for a consultation last week.”

“I meant _spoke_ to him.”

“…A long time.”

Lucio rolls his head her way, half obscured by light and shadow. “…Have we been doing the right thing?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s hard to swallow down the lump in her throat. Words are stuffed deep in her stomach, but her lips can barely move to let them free. 

“…Well. It’s been a few years. How have you been?”

She opens her mouth, and closes it again. Her daily life was so mundane that discussing it feels like a dull story. In truth, she doesn’t know where to start. 

To anyone who looked in, they were just two people sitting on a balcony. Sometimes they were loud, sometimes they were angry, sometimes they sat in silence and watched the city and cars move below. It had been a long time, and there was a lot to catch up on. 

* * *

A note of hindsight: don’t sign up for a sports team in university. She curses her days doing track; now Lucio thinks that she can double as physical labor. This is the first time she’s seen the house, and it’s so maze-like that even she can’t keep up. 

She finds Lucilius spread out across one of the couches in the piano room, wearing a red sash with _divorced at last_ printed on it in gold script. The table in front of him is jam-packed with a half-eaten apple cake, three lit candles, and two bottles of champagne.

“Are you going to eat that whole thing?” She doesn’t take her eyes off the cake as she approaches. 

“Yes. But I suppose you can have a slice.” She takes two and ignores the glare he throws her way. “So he dragged you into his charade.”

“He’s lonely.” She has to ask him where he ordered this cake from, because it’s _amazing_ “I know he can lift boxes on his own, and he even hired a moving company. Lucky me.” In truth, even though she knows Lucio can handle it himself, this is an inconvenience she doesn’t really mind. 

Speak of the devil, here comes the morning star. “Lucilius.”

“Go die in a fire,” Lucilius spits.

Lucio chuckles, used to their banter by now. Then a pause; he weaves his fingers together, bumping at the table with his toe. “I understand that, sometimes, people fall out of love. But… if it’s possible… could we still be on well-enough terms to see each other sometime?”

Lucilius bristles, his grip tightening and threatening to crack his glass. “How dare you ask me something like that? You honestly believe I’d want to deal with you ever again?”

“Perhaps that was a little too bold.” Lucio sighs, head hanging. “I got ahead of myself. If you find the time or the will to do so, I’d like to start over again. Not as husband and husband, but as two equals. If you ever find such a moment comes, I will happily accept your company.”

Lucilius chews on his latest piece of cake, swallowing it down. He spins his fork between his fingers, silver rotating round, round. “…I will think about it.”

Lucio beams, far too bright. Before he can say anything more, a loud shattering crash resounds from the other room. With a sigh, he hurries out of the room to see what the movers accidentally broke. 

“What now?” she asks him once Lucio’s footsteps are too far to make out. 

Lucilius pops open another champagne cork with his teeth. “I’ll go back to work. I’ve had to take a break because of all this. I wasn’t married before Lucio, so now I’ve just returned to how I was before this whole affair. That’s all.” He smiles, satisfied, but mostly he just looks tired. 

She is a lawyer, and she has been paid. It’s now her sworn duty to vanish from people’s lives— because like therapists, the people who open their hearts and histories have no intention of bonding through that shared truth. They want what they ask for, and then they leave. She is paid very well to do just that.

So she says, “There’s a cafe nearby my office. They have coffee and tasty scones and a wide selection of jams and cream. The good cream.”

“I prefer tea.” 

“Tea, then,” she promises. 

In the meantime, she has boxes to move. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a comedy, but things sure changed!  
> Special thanks to Grey for looking things over for me, they were a great amount of help.


End file.
